


You Murdered Him!

by Arvari



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A Little Bit Of Crack, Angry Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has Had Enough, Crowley Has Gone Too Far, Humorous Ending, I'd Tag More, but i don't want to spoil the ending, it's all just for fun really, just read it guys, trust me - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 08:23:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20355391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvari/pseuds/Arvari
Summary: “You killed him!”“Uhm,” Crowley repeated, furiously trying to guess what the hell was the angel talking about. “Who?”“You know damn well, Crowley!”“Well, actually, angel-”He stopped dead in his tracks when the angel showed him the object he was holding. Well, not exactly an object. It was just a piece of paper, a very specific piece of paper, also known as…“Fuck,” Crowley said.





	You Murdered Him!

“You… you… You _monster_!”

Crowley blinked. Then he realized Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to see it behind the sunglasses, so he tried to express his puzzlement in another way.

“Uhm,” he said. “What?”

Aziraphale glared. It was a look Crowley had seen before – but it was never directed at him. And to be completely honest, it scared him a little. Probably even more than the fact the angel seemed to have invited himself into Crowley’s flat without Crowley’s explicit permission. That was new. New and scary.

“You _killed him_!”

“Uhm,” Crowley repeated, furiously trying to guess what the hell was the angel talking about. “Who?”

“You know _damn well_, Crowley!”

“Well, actually, angel-”

He stopped dead in his tracks when the angel showed him the object he was holding. Well, not exactly an object. It was just a piece of paper, a very specific piece of paper, also known as…

“Fuck,” Crowley said.

“Precisely,” Aziraphale growled.

“I… can explain?”

“What is there to explain? You murdered him!”

Crowley bit his lower lip. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his Saturday evening to go.

“Angel,” he sighed.

“Don’t angel me!” Aziraphale warned him. “I knew, of course, that this… _this…_ was your doing. Because of _course_ that it was! And I let you get away with it, because you weren’t actually harming anybody, but you’ve crossed the line now!”

“Oh, come on, angel, now you’re just being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? _Dramatic_?!” Aziraphale gasped. “Angels are _not_ dramatic, my dear, especially not me! You, on the other hand, are a murderer. This is not your usual low-grade evil, Crowley, this is peak infernal torture!”

“Well, in my defence,” Crowley said, “I never expected you to know. Or care.”

“You… what?” It seemed it was Aziraphale’s turn to be confused.

“Yeah, you know, it’s not exactly your… usual scene. I’m still shocked you even...” Crowley pointed at the piece of paper. “I mean, really, angel? How long?”

“I could ask you the very same thing. How long did you spend planning it?” Aziraphale said, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “The whole eleven years?”

“More like… thirteen, to be honest.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Well, I am,” Crowley beamed. “You know, the beginning was hell, literally, just to get the idea to stick was nearly impossible, but when it did, well...”

“I don’t wanna know!” Aziraphale growled. “I don’t want to hear it!”

“Right. What is it that you want, then?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I want you to bring him back, of course.”

“You… _what_?” This time, Crowley took off his sunglasses, so Aziraphale could really see him blink. “I’m afraid that’s a little impossible, love.”

“Yes. It would take a miracle, I’m aware of that.”

“Uhm,” Crowley commented.

“To make things absolutely clear, I am not asking. I am _telling_ you to bring him back to life.”

“Come on, angel. Be sensible,” Crowley sighed.

“I am perfectly sensible.”

“You know how much blood, sweat and tears I’ve put into this?”

“Crowley...”

“So it’s the Sherlock Holmes situation all over again, isn’t it?” Crowley muttered.

If looks could kill, Crowley would have ended up as a smoking pile of ashes with a pair of sunglasses on top.

“That,” Aziraphale growled, “was also your fault.”

“I was asleep when he wrote it! And then you suddenly barged into my bedroom, demanding I intervene and-”

“Are you denying that it was your fault?”

“Well, no, but-”

“You know what, Crowley, you’re right. It _is_ the Sherlock Holmes situation all over again. And you know how it ends!”

Crowley sighed, accepting his fate.

Yes, he could argue. He could mention all the little services he’d done for Aziraphale in the past. He _did_ make Arthur bring Sherlock Holmes back. And he _did_ convince the BBC to bring the stupid TV series back, as well – and Aziraphale didn’t even _like_ the final season! He was still working on the third Sherlock Holmes movie, but hey, he was trying, right?

He could argue. But judging by the angel’s face, Crowley was moments from being smitten (or was it _smote_? or _smited_? he’d be damned if he knew) by a very pissed off Principality. And while that was definitely a good excuse for losing your body, Crowley didn’t really want to explain the _reason_ for the smiting Downstairs.

“I still cannot believe it,” he murmured. “I’d expect you to enjoy anything, angel, literally _anything_. But the _MCU_, really?”

“Stop trying to distract me, you wily serpent, and swear you will find a way to bring him back.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“I said _swear_, my dear.”

C rowley sighed.

“I swear that I will find a way to bring Tony Stark back to life. Happy now?”

Aziraphale’s face softened immediately. The avenging angel was gone in an instant, replaced by the sweet cinnamon roll Crowley knew and loved.

“Thank you, my dear,” the angel smiled. “Now, I believe you owe me a lunch for all this _terrible_ stress you’ve put me through.”

Crowley wanted to say he hadn’t even  _known_ his actions would affect Aziraphale, but he knew better. So he just smiled and put his sunglasses back  on his face where they belonged.

“Of course, angel,” he said. “How about the Ritz?”

Aziraphale grinned at him, which usually meant he was going to say something he thought was incredibly witty.

“Marvellous,” he commented as he carefully put the Avengers: Endgame ticket back in his pocket.

Crowley knew it was a stupid joke, but he still couldn’t help laughing.

“Oh, angel,” he said. “You realize you’re never gonna hear the end of this, right?”

“If Tony Stark could sacrifice his life for the Universe, my dear boy, I can certainly sacrifice a little bit of my dignity for Tony Stark.”

“Yeah,” Crowley nodded. “Right. Of course you can...”


End file.
